


Supermassive Blackhole

by ArtanisNaanie



Series: Muse [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Betaed, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Hook-Up, It was meant to be porn but Jaskier caught feelings, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer and Triss are protective friends who know what's best, bit of a hair-pulling kink, except plot is happening anyway, jaskier is stubborn, no beta we die like calanthe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtanisNaanie/pseuds/ArtanisNaanie
Summary: A month goes by. Geralt doesn’t call or text, Jaskier neither. It’s ok. It’s normal. Jaskier knew it would happen that way. It’s not like his crush is returned or anything. People fuck and then disappear all the time and if it hurts a little is only because Jaskier is an idiot and should really take it as lesson.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Muse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752481
Comments: 17
Kudos: 202
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	Supermassive Blackhole

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in updating this series, this chapter just wouldn't come to me but I tracked it down and found it, or at least I hope! I had a lot of fun with this piece's title though.
> 
> This story will make more sense if you read Undisclosed desires and Bliss before that. It gets a bit angsty because Jaskier is a romantic idiot and caught feelings.
> 
> Thank you for your kudos, comments, bookmarks, and overall support. The feedback in this fandom is awesome!
> 
> English is not my first language and I didn't have a beta for this, so mistakes are mine and I'm sorry for them!
> 
> Update 01/10/2021: Thanks to Rita this series is actually written in English now!! yey! Check her work [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyRita1967/pseuds/LovelyRita1967), she writes amazing fics!!

A month goes by. Geralt doesn’t call or text, Jaskier either. It’s ok. It’s normal. Jaskier knew it would happen that way. It’s not like his crush has returned or anything. People fuck and then disappear all the time and if it hurts a little it’s only because Jaskier is an idiot and should really take it as lesson.

Besides, he has fodder for jerk off sessions to last him at least years, so he’ll take his win where he can. 

Life goes on, as life often does. Jaskier works as a sound tech in a local radio station during the day and performs where he can at night. He writes happy songs and sad poems because his poems are just for him and he can write whatever in them. Sometimes he gets paid to play at a bar, sometimes it’s just the beers. He doesn’t care, he’s still young and has a lot of time to make it, someday. His friends come to his concerts and if they notice he avoids a part of downtown when they go out they say nothing about it. 

He doesn’t only rely on his hand, either. One night he goes home with a gorgeous woman ten years his senior (he _thinks_ , he’s a gentleman so he doesn’t actually _ask_ ) and wonders why did he lost the last years of his life running after girls his age: when she casually fingers him while sucking his cock he swears he’ll never bed another woman this side of her thirties. 

But still, the silence of his phone is annoying. 

It’s Friday night and he doesn’t have a gig when Triss and Yennefer - who are totally fucking even if they think they’re being subtle about it - drag him for a night out. He complies easily enough. Their path is the usual, starting uphill and going down, a drink in most bars, chats with several scattered friends, a pause at the square, then on again. They’re all drunk pretty fast, like every Friday, and end up at one of their usual haunts, where there’s good music to counteract the fact that the drinks are shit. Jaskier dances, with people and alone, and he’s not hammered but just floating and the night is beautiful and really, who remembers why he was annoyed? Not him.

Not him, that is, until a white man-bun makes his appearance in his line of sight. The person attached to it, the person Jaskier has been fantasizing about for almost a decade and then with a lot more details for two months, greets Yennefer and Triss warmly, which is... rude. But Jaskier remembers he didn’t tell his friends about his little affair and he doesn’t plan to, so he does as if he didn’t see the Wolf. Which, thinking about it, is probably stupid: the guy is right in front of him. But, oh well. Jaskier turns, closes his eyes and lets himself drown in the music, blessedly too loud for him to partake in the conversation. Except there’s quickly a hand on his waist, and a breath against his neck that prickles. 

“Well, birdie, were you planning on ignoring me?”

And yes, Jaskier can be a little shit when he wants to be. 

“Well, worked for you, didn’t it?”

Except Geralt just chuckles, not at all sounding sorry, and delivers a light kiss on the side of his neck and a squeeze of his waist before leaving him altogether, directed towards the bar. 

When Jaskier turns to face his friends the look on Yennefer’s face is... scary. Well, Yennefer is _always_ scary, but after more than ten years of acquaintance and five of a friendship close enough to live together, usually Jaskier can stand some scariness. Right now, though, she looks downright murderous. Jaskier thinks about escaping and wonders if a diarrhea attack would work, but he knows there’s no point. 

“What the fuck did you do?

“Me? I didn’t do anything!” He throws his hands up, for good measure. Triss' unimpressed stare tells him they’re not believing him. “Right, look, maybe we met once or twice, some time ago. Nothing to it, just, you know, two beers, a game of pool, some handjobs...” When confronted directly, Jaskier has never been good at lying. 

“You are an idiot.” Jaskier doesn’t even know which one of them says it. Possibly both, in sync.

“That’s a fact, yes. But hey, it’s in the past, so let’s dance some more?”

Jaskier extracts himself from under the glare of his friends, of his very well-meaning but totally out of line friends. He knows he’s a romantic. He knows Geralt was a bad idea. He knew it the first time and only consolidated the opinion on the second time. But it’s over, isn’t it? In a few months, it will only be a memory, a very, very hot memory, but a memory nonetheless. So he resumes his dancing, and locks eyes with a pretty thing on the other side of the dancefloor, but doesn’t cross the distance. Yennefer still glares at him, but he ignores her. 

Geralt comes back, because _why the fuck not, Geralt_ , and talks with Triss, and Yennefer, and Jaskier too, idle conversation about what they’ve been up to tonight. They dance. Jaskier tries to keep some distance, but Geralt has other ideas and plasters his front to Jaskier’s back and Jaskier is trying very, very hard to not think about the previous encounters, about Geralt’s voice in his ear, about his hand on his cock, or his cock in his mouth, but Geralt seems to find Jaskier’s restraint hilarious if the crinkle at the side of his eyes is any indication. Jaskier hates him. Jaskier also hates his friends, the one who scowls and the one who looks at him with something akin to pity. Fuck them. He’s an adult, for fuck’s sake, and it’s his damn right to make mistakes for himself and not learn from the experience of others. So, he turns in Geralt’s arms. What’s the point of making mistakes if one only makes half of them, right?

Geralt continues to dance, or better swaying from one side to another, which is what everybody else is doing too. Jaskier sways too. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Geralt's hands slide towards his ass, just resting. Jaskier tries to squash his hopes for an honest groping. Geralt is watching him, and Jaskier is pulled towards those eyes like the sea to the fucking moon, if the moon was bright and yellow as the sun and not white and that comparison is going nowhere so Jaskier stops making it. So they sway, looking into each other’s eyes. Jaskier's forearms are leaning on Geralt's shoulders, and he slips the point of his fingers in the shorter hair at the base of the skull. Just for a second, just to touch. Just enough to make those eyes go hungry. Jaskier is an idiot, but he's ok with it. 

"There's a lot of people tonight, birdie."

Jaskier hums, taking one from Geralt's book. He doesn't even try to make small talk, to ask "so where have you been, what have you been doing, how's work lately". He will not entertain the pretense of anything else, if only to keep some distance. Jaskier is a complicated man. 

“Hmm. I want to fuck you." 

Damn his voice to hell and back. "Here?!?" Jaskier shrieks, high enough to be heard above the music, but not too high. At least, he hopes. 

Geralt is an asshole and smirks. "No, but don't pretend you wouldn't be into it." 

Jaskier feels himself blush, which is embarrassing, but the dim light should cover it. “Honestly, that would be a little too much for me,” he responds. It's a bit of a lie: he would totally find it hot. Geralt hums. “So, what you say, birdie, see you at my place?”

Jaskier composes his face as much as possible, pretending to think about it. There’s not much to think about. He wants, Geralt seems agreeable, and what’s some more stupid anyway? He’ll get over his crush, just not tonight. 

He ponders the option of skipping out without saying goodbye to his friends, but they’re probably going to look for him at some point and, in any case, nobody goes to a semi-stranger’s house without telling anyone. Serial killers are a thing, after all. 

Geralt leaves with just a wave to Yennefer and Triss and Jaskier stands before his firing squad, feeling a little sheepish, a little chastised already, but also very, very _horny_. So.

“If you cry about it in a few days I’m smashing your guitar into so many little pieces the monochrome one thousand piece puzzle we did last year will look like a piece of cake in comparison.”

So, that’s Yennefer. He nods. That’s fair.

“Oh, shut up, as if you didn’t open your legs as soon as he looked at you, Yen.” Triss hugs him, rolling her eyes at her girlfr- oh right, not official, her _friend_.

“You’re one to talk,” mutters Yennefer, and ok, that’s enough reminder that everyone has fucked Geralt before him, thank you very much, so Jaskier takes his leave. A text on his phone gives him an address ten minutes away, and he goes. 

A ten minutes walk is not good for his nerves _at all_. Second-guessing oneself is a hard thing to do with a hard dick and golden eyes watching but comes very easily when one is just walking to a house he’s never been to, to be fucked by someone he barely knows, whom he has a crush on and doesn’t see him as much more than a fuck toy. Jaskier’s confidence is at its peak when he reaches the building, truly. Nonetheless, because nobody can claim Jaskier’s not a stubborn bastard, he rings. 

Geralt’s flat is nothing to sing about. It would not feature in the special “Bachelor fortresses” of Architectural Digest, that’s for sure. When Geralt opens the door Jaskier can see a fairly unadorned den, a little kitchen, and two doors which, he presumes, lead to the bathroom and the bedroom. 

There's always a moment during a booty call where Jaskier would like some kind of cheat sheet. Does he enter and kiss Geralt? Do they sit on the couch and chat a bit? Does he just go for the bedroom like the unashamed, bold guy he wants to be but is not? Someone should write a book about it. Since nobody has, or at least Jaskier has not read it, he stands awkwardly on the doorstep for a bit, taking in Geralt who’s already changed in a pair of flannel pants and a black shirt. Jaskier would miss the kilt, but the flannel does it for him too. Or maybe it’s just Geralt. When the man himself hauls him in with a hand on his jacket and a filthy kiss on his lips, Jaskier thinks it’s probably just Geralt. 

The door shuts behind him and he’s pushed against it by a wall of muscle and oh god, yes, Jaskier loves that and if his dick was having second thoughts until two minutes ago it seems totally on board now. The kisses are deep and filthy, and a little frantic maybe, but it could be Jaskier projecting. He doesn't care. His tongue dances with Geralt's, his teeth bite lips without even wondering if it's too hard because he can't hear any complaints and also there's something long and hot and hard poking him and they really should go to bed because he wants to take his time and not fucking come standing at the door for a few kisses and a bit of rutting, damn it. So he tugs on the white hair he's fisting without even realizing and oh, the sound that it extracts from Geralt is beautiful and he's going to come back to that at some point, but as soon as his lips are free he just murmurs against Geralt's lips "Take me to bed," and Geralt does. He lifts him, as if he weighs nothing, as if he's a petite woman and not a man as tall as Geralt, and that's a first, Jaskier's never been in this position before but he likes it, very, very much, so he laughs as he crosses his ankles behind Geralt and hold on until he's basically launched onto an unmade bed.

Jaskier scrambles out of his clothes between a breath and the next, fighting with the fucking pants that don’t want to come off his fucking feet for just a few seconds. He hopes he hasn’t ripped them but, honestly, he doesn’t actually care. Blessedly naked he lounges on the bed and looks up to Geralt, who’s still standing, still dressed. It’s both embarrassing and hot, to be that vulnerable in front of the man, who’s staring at him with his almost golden eyes like he’s prey and Geralt’s the predator. A shiver dribbles along his spine at the thought. Geralt smirks, unmoving except for a hand that comes to palm his cock under the tent in the pants. Jaskier’s dick twitches. He resists the impulse to touch himself, lets the silence blanket everything in a bubble of anticipation. Then Geralt, fucking finally, takes off his shirt and lets his pants fall on the floor and oh god, he must have the most beautiful body Jaskier’s ever been acquainted with. He knew that, of course, because there’s only so much well-fitted clothes can do for a body - he should know - but there’s knowing and _knowing_. Now he can let his eyes wander over those large shoulders and arms, on that fine chest hair that just exalts pectorals Jaskier wants to touch right now, a flat belly, that magnificent cock in the middle of those gorgeous, thick thighs, those straight and muscled legs. God, Geralt is a marvel, and Jaskier is a bit self-conscious. He’s not scrawny, but he’s not built either. He’s a bit soft under his navel and his chest hair is not fine nor scarce and his arms might be about half of Geralt’s and... but Geralt’s still watching him with _hunger_ and so, who cares. 

Geralt doesn’t pounce on him, he crawls from the end of the bed, slowly, letting his hands stray on Jaskier’s legs and then sides. He stops when he’s hovering over him, hair half undone from Jaskier’s fists earlier, body taut, cock just out of contact. Jaskier reaches to touch, his arms, his chest, his back, his ass, wandering fingers without a goal. 

“I want to fuck you,” Geralt says, and fuck that deep voice of his always does something for Jaskier, and he has to keep back an embarrassing moan just for that. 

“You already said that but you aren’t actually doing anything,” Jaskier responds, with a surge of sass he didn’t think he could muster right at this moment. Geralt’s eyes crinkles seem to deepen, just a bit.

“You’re bossy tonight, birdie.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” says Jaskier while he tries to cross the distance between their mouths for a kiss. Geralt stays just out of reach, an evil twist on his lips. This man is going to kill him and he’s not even mad about it.

“Hmm, I think I prefer it when you’re an obedient boy...”

“Well, tough shit.” Jaskier snakes a hand up in those messy, white hair, and tugs. The response is beautiful, neck arching, eyes closing, a swift exhale. It’s Jaskier’s turn to smirk. “Bit of a hair-pulling kink, have we?”

Then there are lips on his, and a hard body leaning on him, and a hot tongue licking into his mouth, hands on his face and sides and ass and thighs, and Jaskier forgets to be sassy because the only reality that’s left is Geralt. Geralt kissing him, touching him; Geralt’s cock brushing his on his belly; Geralt scent of something woodsy and manly; Geralt’s hair in his hand and his face; Geralt’s ass under his palm. The outside world doesn’t exist anymore, nothing but the two of them wrestling on rumpled sheets and Jaskier losing willingly. 

When they’re sweaty and their lips are swollen from kisses, Geralt finds the lube in his nightstand. They’re both impatient, so the prep is more perfunctory than foreplay up until the point where Jaskier tries to hurry things up and the evil smirk comes back on Geralt’s lips while he slows down. Jaskier might say he hates him, but it’s neither here nor there. When Geralt has three fingers up Jaskier’s ass and Jaskier tries to kick him with his heel in the butt with the plead of “For fuck’s sake Geralt if you don’t put your dick in me now I’m going to get up and leave I swear,” Geralt laughs. He laughs and the sound of it is so beautiful and unexpected that Jaskier laughs too and that does things where Geralt’s fingers are buried and it triggers another bout of laughter from the both of them and soon they’re just a heap of limbs on the bed, Geralt laughing in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and Jaskier giggling in Geralt’s hair. 

When the laughter dies it takes a moment to heat up the situation again, but soon Geralt is leaving a line of open-mouthed kisses along the column of Jaskier’s neck and Jaskier is offering it by arching up and tugging on white hair, and the atmosphere changes again, and the urgency returns. Geralt lines up, and pushes, slow but steady. Jaskier breathes through it, through the uncomfortable feeling of being stretched so tight, through the slight burn. Geralt pauses to make him adjust, and that would be easier if that big, too big, never-going-to-fit-big, why-haven’t-I-thought-about-it-before-big cock would please stop pulsing and getting bigger by the fucking minute. It takes time, and another drip of lube, but finally the moment comes when Jaskier only feels _full_. Foreheads against each other, sweat condensing on skin, Jaskier nods. Geralt tucks a pillow under Jaskier’s ass, then starts moving, slowly. Too slow. 

Jaskier can feel every inch of him getting out and getting in, a torture so good that only becomes better when Geralt tilts his hips just so and yes, there, that’s just right, and Jaskier might be babbling between moans but he doesn’t know what he’s saying, maybe something about harder, or faster, because that’s what Geralt is doing now and yes, that’s even better, that’s a highroad destination orgasm without a fuel stop and Jaskier’s metaphors are not getting better at all but who cares. Geralt above him is a vision, white hair like a halo lightened by the side bed lamp, all power and strength and an expression of bliss on his face, and Jaskier tries to resist the will to touch himself because he knows if he does he’ll go off like a fucking rocket and he doesn’t want that, he wants to savor it at least this time, he wants to memorize all the details so at least he’ll have those for later, for when all this crumbles down like it’s bound to happen, but Geralt murmurs “Touch yourself” in a broken voice and Jaskier is powerless to resist him and does and yes, as soon as he takes his cock in hand he feels the dam break and stripes of white paint his belly and his chest while he cries his pleasure to the ceiling. Geralt keeps moving until Jaskier's cock starts to soften then, with an almost animalistic growl, slides out and strips his dick with quick, rough hand movements, coming across Jaskier’s body too. 

They don’t move for long moments, Jaskier covered in cum with Geralt kneeling between his legs, looking at each other. Geralt swipes his hand in the mess on Jaskier’s belly, a twinkle in his eyes Jaskier’s not even going to try and understand. Then Geralt stands up, retrieves a wet towel from the bathroom and cleans him a bit. Not like a shower, but good enough to go home. Home. Right. Geralt just lays down on the bed next to him, kisses him softly, and closes his eyes. 

“Hmm, Geralt? Should I go home?”

“You can stay, but I wake up at six tomorrow for work,” the brute answers in a voice that’s hoarse enough to make Jaskier a bit smug. Not much, just a bit. 

“That’s in three hours!”

“I know, that’s why you should sleep.”

Jaskier ends up getting up and dressing. Sleeping next to Geralt seems like the worst idea in a night of bad ideas. The fact that he’s going to sleep until at least midday is just an excuse he tells Geralt when he kisses him before seeing himself out. It’s an excuse he would love to believe in, though. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, they had unprotected sex and that's very, very bad. Use condoms, guys. But since this is porn and not sex ed, I'm going to pretend it didn't happen. 
> 
> Next story will get angsty and I'll update as soon as I can. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Check out my other Witcher fics:
> 
> \- [A piper at the gates of dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411083/chapters/56107210); canon universe, ep 6 fix-it, rated E, <9k. Geralt finds Jaskier one year and a half after the mountain.  
> \- the [Muse 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752481): Modern setting, from hook-up to lovers, rated E, Geralt wears kilts, angst with a happy ending. <20k  
> \- [Calligraphy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365418): 5k ficwip challenge, College/University, rated E, inspired by art, fluff, 5k  
> \- [In the kitchen of a keep in the mountains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910944/chapters/62970847): canon universe, found family, food as a love language, internal monologues, character study, rated T, 12k  
> \- [ There was only one bed and it was uncomfortable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26283094): 5+1 Crack, rated E, 4k  
> \- [Wish you were here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579083); canon universe, porn without plot, rated E, 5k. Geralt walks in on Jaskier.. again.  
> \- [Of food, friendship and apologies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954674); canon universe, ep 6 fix-it, rated G, 2k, not or pre slash. Food is a love language.  
> \- [As we lie here in our bed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527864): canon universe, porn without plot, somnophilia prompt for the Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, rated E, 1k  
> \- [Black in front of my eyes, bark against my back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616832): canon universe, porn without plot, outdoor, clothed sex, rated E, <1k  
> \- [Things that bump in the night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617060): pre canon universe, porn without plot, Eskel/Geralt, Kaer Morhen, rated E, <1k  
> \- [I quite like seeing you all tied up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617300): canon universe, porn without plot, Geraskier, soft bondage, rated E, <1k  
>   
> And you can come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ArtanisNaanie) too!


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